Murky Ponds
by Elivra26
Summary: The Ponds come devastatingly close to giving up on each other forever -we all know it happens, and we're all thankful they get back together in the end, as they're supposed to. But what really led them down that dark path in the first place? Multi-chaptered. Rated T for swearing and implied stuff.
1. Chapter 1

**The moment I got this I idea, I couldn't stop writing. It just compelled me so much.**

**I liked where the writers went with Amy and Rory's near-divorce in the start of the seventh season. It was like putting up a warning sign -they may have found true love, but it isn't always happily ever after. Relationships and marriages need to be worked on, even by someone as timelessly in love as Amy and Rory. **

**But it seemed a little too rushed, with the whole thing being resolved before we could bring ourselves to accept it. Of course, I understand why that had to happen, really, Moffat couldn't have done it any other way, and it gives me the opportunity to write this story, now, doesn't it?**

**So, here it is. My version of what possibly went wrong with the Ponds. Readers beware, we're heading toward dark lands.**

_**Disclaimer: Doctor Who, BBC. Two symbiotic creatures. I'm just the fangirly naturalist observing them.**_

* * *

**Murky Ponds**

* * *

"So. The Ood's gone."

I shot a glance at him. "Missing him already?"

He shrugged. "He was handy."

"True," I sighed and leaned onto him, placing my head comfortably on his shoulder, my favourite position. That was one of the many things I loved about Rory, how perfect his height was for me. I generally come under the category of tall girl(unless I'm on Tamexon 5 –there I'm a hormonally-challenged pygmy), and a lot of guys I know are shorter than me. An equal number are taller, but they are often freakishly tall, with totally disproportionate torso and lower body lengths(these guys would fit right in on Tamexon 5). But Rory… Rory's height was perfect –neither too tall, nor too short. Rory was beautiful. It was like he was made for me.

He shrugged and my head jumped with the movement. "Oh well. There isn't that much to do anyway. It's just the two of us."

It was nothing we both hadn't said before. But this time, there was something different about the way he said it. Or something in the way his words echoed in our lounge. There was _something_ different. Or maybe it was just me.

"Yeah," I agreed, casually, but an inexplicable lump was forming in my throat. "Just the two of us."

* * *

**A/N: In case you're wondering, there's more to come, of course! Next chapter coming up tomorrow!**

**Please review, whether you liked it or not, I'm not picky!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Yaye, new chapter! Okay, so I haven't named the chapters, it didn't really seem to fit, you know. So, the chapters'll just keep getting bigger and bigger, as the Ponds' relationship will get worse and worse... **

* * *

"Amy! Rory! Over here!"

Both of us turned around to see a large blonde woman waving at us from the other side of the road. I frowned and squinted. Did I know her?

Amy was frowning, too. "She look familiar?"

I squinted even more, even as I waved vaguely. "Uh… maybe?"

A fake grin plastered on her face, Amy muttered, "Here she comes," as the large blonde woman did indeed advance, exclaiming, "Oh my _gosh_ it must be years since I met you two –and I heard about the wedding!" She was fully upon us now and snatched both our left hands in each of hers and scrutinised the gold bands on our ring fingers.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't come, but I had Arnold coming out of me any second and, well, Letitia's coming in a month!" She laughed, which rather sounded like neighing, and patted her protruded belly.

I grappled with the new names of Arnold and Letitia while I wondered where I'd heard that laugh before.

Amy seemed to have remembered, though. Her smile was even more fixed as she waved away the apology, and assured the woman that she and Rory would visit her little place at Chiswick when 'Letitia had popped out'(which crude phrase made the woman even more familiar, but I still couldn't quite remember).

The woman turned and walked away and Amy's smile broke immediately. "That was Charlotte," she muttered, massaging her cheeks. "You remember Charlotte Sturgis?"

_"That_ was Charlotte Sturgis?" The image of Charlotte in my mind was of a reed-thin, jet-black-haired girl with an eyebrow piercing and hollowed, stoned eyes. I simply couldn't equate that image with the insanely chatty, pink and plump young woman who had just accosted us in the street.

Amy snorted. "Yeah. Blimey."

I blinked and shook my head as we made our way down the street. "Blimey doesn't even cover it. I mean –Charlotte Sturgis!"

"Yeah, you wouldn't think that someone with all those piercings and all that… nihilism would become _that_."

I snorted too. "Nihilism's a bit too _mild_. You remember how she tried to convince us all that it was a bad idea to progenate in a world so obviously held up by-"

"-'held up by fake struts of foolishly optimistic and hypocritical societal values which hid the true abjectness of all reality locked in a downward spiral of utter and complete destruction'? A bit, yeah." She grinned. "Fairly rammed that mulch down our throats."

I grinned back, Charlotte had been extremely bent on propagating her views to anyone and everyone possible. "Talk about hypocrites –she's going to have two progeny in a month!"

It was supposed to be funny. It _was_ funny. She _was_ smiling, quite normally too. But the way she said her "Yeah", a little softly, a little coldly –and was that a crack in her voice? –was not normal at all.

We didn't speak for the rest of the walk home.

* * *

**Please review! You know you want to! (hint, hint)**


	3. Chapter 3

I held my fingers poised over the keyboard, willing for them to magically develop thoughts of their own and type _something_ because my brain, curse it, had nothing to contribute.

The front door slammed; I looked up over the top of my screen and smiled at the love of my life.

"Hi," he said, sounding not a little exhausted.

I jumped off my chair, glad for the interruption. "Honey, you're home," I said, paraphrasing his usual greeting, pulling him into a quick embrace and a kiss. He barely returned the kiss and sank onto the couch, but pulled me onto it with him which told me he wasn't displeased or angry with me(which was rare enough), but just plain tired.

"God, I'm knackered," he mumbled, rubbing his face. "If this is part-timing, I'd hate to know what full-time involves."

"You won't know it 'till you try it," I grinned.

"I could, yeah, but…" We both glanced at our cordless phone on the table three feet away.

"There's _him_," I nodded.

"You heard from him again?"

"Nope."

Rory stretched. "He's taking his time, this time."

"He is," I agreed, thoughtful. "Although, knowing him, barely any time has passed since he saw us last. We both know how often that tends to happen."

He grinned. "If he's making us wait twelve years this time, he'd better tell us. I'll take up nursing full-time, then. We do need to sustain ourselves." He wrapped his arm around me and stroked my hair absently. "Speaking of sustenance, what's for dinner?"

I bit my lip and focused my gaze on his shoelaces. "Nothing. Wasted all day trying to write."

He kissed my forehead in acceptance of my unspoken apology. "And?"

"Oh, it's almost done. Just needs a few black words to contrast the blank whiteness of the sheet. Then it's a masterpiece."

He chuckled. "You'll get there, don't worry. You write brilliantly, Amy."

"I know, thanks," I said coolly before kissing him in appreciation of his compliment. "But there are times when I don't –I can't write at all, and I'm going nuts wondering what to do."

"You'll figure it out," he murmured, soothingly, I'm sure. But something about the way he said it irritated me. Figure it out –figure _what_ out? How?

As a matter of fact, I _had_ figured it out. But it hadn't been easy, certainly not as easy as Rory's vague placations seemed to put it.

"I've –kind of figured it out, actually," I said slowly.

Rory only seemed slightly interested, which suddenly made me more irritated. "Oh?"

I took a deep breath. "I had a call from Vanessa in the morning," I said, in a forcefully casual voice.

_That_ caught his attention. He sat up. "What about?"

I shot him a look. "What do you think?"

Vanessa was my agent, and she never called to just chat. She'd admitted as much the first time I'd met her.

"Are you going back into _that_, then?"

I shrugged. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I wanted back in in the modelling business. I had a strong feeling, though, that writing wouldn't last for long in my life, and modelling would come to stay.

"This job's perfect for me, she says."

He narrowed his eyes. "What's it for?" Oh, for Pete's sake. Him and his –his little Victorian mind!

"Watches."

"When?"

"Thursday, ten a.m."

He simply nodded. "I'll ask for the night shift." Before I could respond to that, he got up and made his way to the stairs. "I can barely keep my eyes open," he fake-yawned. "I'm off to bed. Night-night."

And left me alone in the lounge, seething.

* * *

**SO, this is where it starts to get interesting. And I mean 'interesting' just the way Moffat does. *cue ominous music***

**As always, a simple request to leave behind a review! S'il vous plaît and merci!**


	4. Chapter 4

I wished the Doctor were here. There were times when this was an absolutely normal thing to wish for. An example would be when you were being chased by a horde of crazy Andregomian mer-women, who were known to tear a virile, male human to bits in their lustful frenzy. Or when the dictatorial half-alien chief of an Amazonian war-tribe was going to sacrifice you to the swamp gods. Or when you were abandoned in a desert town moments away from the strike of a nuclear bomb. Or when the Tardis was suddenly all wonky and toothpaste was coming out of the shower-heads.

But wishing he were here, on a normal day on Earth, at a normal, respectable, and consequently boring time period, was extremely uncommon. And _me_ wishing for his presence was even more so.

And then there was the _reason_ why wanted him here. I doubt anyone in the history of the universe ever wanted him around for this reason.

I wished the Doctor were here, because I wanted some _sanity_ in my life.

"All right, Amy, love, that's _gorgeous_! Now make like a Greek statue and freeze."

It was supposed to be just one job. They'd said watches, so I'd cooked for two days, made sure she didn't nick her hands and arms in any way so as to keep them blemish-free, and let her get a mind-bogglingly expensive manicure. When I say 'let her', I don't mean actually _let_ her. I mean, this was Amy Pond. No one told her what to do. I was given this distinct privilege at times because of a promise she had taken from me before we'd even gotten married –a promise to hold her back, to stop her from spending extravagantly for absolutely unnecessary reasons, as she often did.

But there was no stopping her now. The watch ad somehow involved a wedding dress, a water hose and sunflowers, which didn't really make sense to me because it looked like the ad was for the dress, in the end. Oh, it was beautiful, no doubt, and she looked amazing, but I didn't need a misleading, airbrushed magazine-ad to tell me my wife was amazing.

"And break! _Brilliant_, Amy!"

They were done. Were they done? Please tell me they were done. I couldn't take any of this much longer.

"Hey, you," Amy bounded over to me, her frilly frock bouncing around her rather hideously. She pecked me lightly on my mouth, careful not to smudge the weird lip paint on her lips.

"Hey," I muttered. "Are you done yet?"

"Another half-hour, I think. They want to try a different parasol this time."

"Right."

She observed my expression carefully. "Bored?"

I was already in a pretty bad mood. "A bit, yeah."

"I'm sorry," she said, pouting, and not looking sorry at all. "But look, Andy got us tickets to the Lion King, how cool is that?"

"Us?"

She huffed and waved two tickets at me. "You and me, Rory. Come on." She assumed her pouting expression again, which only pissed me off more. Why the hell was she pouting at me like _I _was a camera? "You know you love it. 'More to see than can ever be seen, more to do than can ever be done', remember?"

It had been _her_ favourite quote from the movie and consequently mine. It figured, though. It sounded just like something the Doctor would say.

"Why's Andy being so nice?"

"Why shouldn't he be?" A bit of the old Amy gleamed in her eyes, _my_ Amy, defending that slimy piece of-

"Fine. Sure. Just wrap up quickly."

She squealed –this was new Amy –and hugged me and ran off. I watched as she flipped her hair and chattered excitedly to her make-up artist. I found myself suddenly yearning for one of Amy's slaps.

I sighed and sank back into the uncomfortably soft sofa. I really, _really_ wished the Doctor were here.

* * *

**Okay, I realise Amy and Rory's main grievance was that they couldn't have kids. But, from what I could infer from The Asylum of the Daleks, neither of them realises that -or at least, Rory doesn't. He seems shocked when Amy brings it up near the end, so that makes me think their big fall-out was because of something else altogether. Which is what you can see in the above chapter.**

**I've also had a couple of guest reviews asking me why the Ponds are so conveniently forgetting River Song being their baby, and why they're making such a fuss of not having kids. So, first of all, thanks for the reviews! *waves***

**Coming to the reason, I think it's best explained by Amy's words in The Wedding of River Song, where she indirectly kills Madame Kovarian. And I quote:**

_**"You took my baby from me, and hurt her. And now she's all grown up, and she's fine. But I'll never see my baby again."**_

**Amy and Rory have really lost their baby forever. They have River Song, and they're glad she's fine and she grows up to be such a wonderful person, but Melody Pond, that little baby that slept in the Doctor's cradle, is lost to them forever. And they can have no other children.**

**Having a child doesn't just mean having someone out there with your genes in them. For most people, it involves having a _family. _They want to do the whole thing -change the baby's diapers, teach it to walk, to read, to sing, tell it the same stories they heard as a child, fight with it as it grows, into an adolescent, and then an adult, watch him/her say 'I do'... the whole run. And Amy and Rory would never get to do all that.**

**I mean, I don't have kids of my own, and I can only imagine how horrible it must feel to Amy and Rory themselves. So you get it, yeah?**

**Review, review!**


	5. Chapter 5

"Oh come on, Amy. Stay! Pleeease!"

Mattie's whining was a little annoying, to be honest. But then again, she was my best friend in the whole business, and it was up to me to shut my mouth and bear it. Besides, every other girl I knew around here had an almost similar whiney voice.

"I can't, Mattie. Rory's home tonight."

Mattie pouted. "Ugh. Such a downer. You always dump us, like, all the time."

"Can't help it, Matts," I said fake-cheerfully. "Got the old ball-and-chain holding me back."

This went on for ten more minutes until I could finally shake Mattie off and she slouched away to find someone else to whine at.

I sighed and rubbed my eyes as I leaned back in the back of the taxi. Today had been especially exhausting. Andy hadn't been shooting –if he had, it would have been a lot more fun and a lot less tiring –instead, it had been some fancy French guy named Duval. He was incredibly nit-picky, more than any photographer I'd ever worked with. And he had this crazily lecherous stare that fell on me one too many times. I shuddered, then steeled myself. Get a grip, Pond. You can handle it. You didn't get into the business with your eyes shut.

And I hadn't, I really hadn't. I'd already experienced something like it, in various degrees, several times. Having a married model amidst them was a novelty. No, they did have married models, but most of them were wives of rich and powerful men, trophies. Not one of them had begun modelling _after_ they were married. Not one of them was married to a nurse. A temp nurse.

But then again not one of their husbands had waited for them outside a box for two thousand years.

The thought brought a small smile to my face. It didn't last, though. Things were lately… difficult with Rory. He wasn't very happy with where I was going with the whole modelling thing, and was very vocal about it, a lot more than I expected from him. It did nothing to improve my mood. He could be overly possessive and ridiculously jealous sometimes, and all the constriction was driving me crazy. I felt smothered and oppressed and lashed out at him more than once.

The taxi stopped at our house. I paid the fare, left the generous change for the driver and turned to our door. The Tardis blue of our door made me smile rather sadly and my heart twisted. Oh, Raggedy Man. Where are you now?

I rang the bell. No answer.

I rang the bell two more times with no luck. Scowling and mumbling curses, I extracted the spare key from a flowerbed and let myself in.

The first thing that gave me a clue on the emptiness of the house was a large dish covered with aluminium foil on our dining table. I uncovered it to find a half-eaten lasagne that looked distinctly unpalatable, which only worsened my mood –and then I saw the Post-It on the fridge.

_At the hospital with Billie and Johnnie. Don't wait up._

_Rory_

My hands were shaking. The paper fluttered to the floor and I sank onto a chair, but my hands would not stop shaking. I was suddenly angry. So incredibly furious.

I had cancelled for _him_. Knowing that he'd be home, knowing that he hated it when I partied with my work friends. I was being considerate –I was _always_ considerate about his feelings, even with my Scottish temper, always careful not to hurt him, to aggravate his insecurity. And then he goes and does _this_?

I wasn't going to take this lying down. Nor was I the passive-aggressive kind. My still-shaking hand snatched the phone from the table and dialled his number.

There was one long ring. Then another. And another.

Finally, just as I was about to hang up, a voice answered, "Hello?"

I was struck dumb. It was a woman's voice.

"Hello? Amy?"

"Who is this?" –I asked, my voice not too friendly.

"It's Billie from next door. Sorry, Rory was just called out for something."

Oh, right. "Hey, Billie. How's Johnnie doing?"

"Better and better, thank God," Billie sighed. Billie was this rather sweet next-door neighbour whose son was epileptic. Johnnie had just had a particularly vicious fit the previous day and had been in the hospital ever since. The good news only made me angrier. Selfish of me, but there it was. The kid was in no danger, he was fine. So why should my husband rush to his side when I was waiting for him at home?

"And all thanks to Rory," Billie continued blithely. "I've been so caught up the whole day, what with one thing and another, and Dave's skinned his knee back home, and there's only so much Peter can do… anyway, Rory's offered to stay for the night so I can go home, get a little shut-eye. Johnnie's happy enough about it, but what about you, Amy? I'd hate to keep your husband from you."

Ugh. I hated conversations that went this way. You just simply couldn't say no to the person, just because it was the 'decent' thing to do. Screw decency, I always said.

"Of course it's alright, Billie," I forced myself to say rather cheerfully. "I can manage without him for one night."

"Thanks so much, Amy!" She sounded so genuinely grateful that I regretted my petulant thoughts moments before. "He really is a godsend. I'm sure one day he'll make an amazing father."

The tinny words on the phone seemed to echo in my head. My hands were trembling again and my legs crossed themselves a little tighter as I felt a familiarly hollow, vulnerable pull between them.

"I suppose." My even voice surprised me.

"You're really very lucky, you know. Here I am, married to a bumbling idiot –she knows I'm being nice, Pete darling –and here _you_ are, married to Superdad!"

My chuckles sounded horribly empty. "Yeah. I know. Funny. Heh."

"Oh, here he is –Rory, it's Amy!" I gripped the phone tighter. Suddenly I didn't want to talk to him. I just wanted to crawl into a small corner and hide there forever.

"Amy?" His familiar voice nearly made me cry. "Hey there," I wheezed. "Just called to check on you."

I heard his huff on the phone. "You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself, you know."

His tone riled me up, brought back the previous anger. "I didn't imply that-"

"Sure you didn't."

I bit my tongue to keep an angry retort back but wasn't entirely successful. "You could've told me you weren't going to be home tonight."

"Sorry, I didn't want to interrupt you during work. I know how busy you are." The sarcasm could have cut a tree in half.

"Yeah well, I cancelled on my friends thanks to you. If I'd known I never would have come home!"

"Too bad," he sneered. "Why don't you call your precious Andy, I'm sure he won't mind you joining in this late-"

"Will you stop harping-on-Andy!" –I snapped.

"I will when you will."

I gave vent to a frustrated yell. "You know what, fine, go and be Nurse Poppins to that precious kid! I can't take any more of this crap tonight!"

I threw the phone away from me, which luckily landed on our couch and so didn't shatter into a million pieces. I was breathing hard, my vision was blurred with tears and I felt like pulling my hair out. The anger wasn't blocking out the despair Billie had induced in me. It was building it up, higher and higher, until all my emotions were feverish and tightly-strung, and my hands just bloody wouldn't stop shaking.

I shot to my feet. Screw decency, I always said.

I grabbed my purse, my coat and the spare key in my quaking hands and stomped out.

_I'll show him big, bad, model-girl. This is only the beginning_.

And it was. Things pretty much spiralled out of control after that.

* * *

**Please review! Thank you!**


	6. Chapter 6

I was roused by the gentle creak of the gate. She wasn't really being gentle –the gate just made very little noise. I heard her heavy footsteps all the way to the door. Then I heard her rattling her key in the lock. Of course it wouldn't work.

I stood up stiffly, walked over to the door, opened it and let her in. She didn't even look at me as she stumbled past, making me clench my jaws even tighter. I followed her into the lounge to see her lying sprawled on the couch.

"Whew!" –she said loudly. "I'm knackered! Smashed, I tell you. Bowled over. Stumped. Out. That's a wicket!" She began to giggle. "Do you realise how much of cricket there is in everyday life? I mean, look at the words. Look at the _insects_." She paused. "Crickets must play smashing cricket," she said seriously.

I'd seen Amy drunk loads of times before, ever since I first let her sneak some cans of beer into my room one afternoon and then she'd given us away by laughing too loudly. Mels and I had been in big trouble that day… I pushed the errant memory away to the back of my mind. I couldn't think of Melody –of River, my daughter, at a time like this.

But Amy like this disgusted me. Drunk Amy was fun, a certain party entertainer. Drunk model-Amy was a different kind of fun altogether.

"Let me see them," I said, dragging a chair in front of her and sitting on it.

She regarded me with innocent eyes. "See what?"

I sighed, checking my temper. "You know what I mean."

Her expression turned mocking. "You show me yours I'll show you mine!" She giggled again. Bile rose in my throat. She hadn't. Had she?

"Show me them, Amy," I said, as sternly as I could.

Surprisingly, it seemed to work. Pouting, she brushed up the flowing sleeves of her spangled dress and displayed her white arms to me. I held first one wrist then the other firmly as I scrutinised each arm carefully. Nothing. Both smooth and creamy white, without a single blemish, just like they had been before that first job with the watches. God, that seemed ages ago.

"Now your eyes," I said in the same stern voice, but this time she seemed to snap into attention.

"Oh, for God's sake, Rory! It was just the one time, I was just trying it! Now, leave me alone!"

"You can't 'just try' stuff like that," I muttered.

"Yeah, well, if I could handle Erinthean nectar, I can handle this." She sounded almost sober when she said it and a sudden silence descended between us. We hadn't discussed the Doctor or the other life we led since quite a while now.

The clock behind me struck three and the spell was broken.

"You can't keep doing this, Amy," I said in a low voice, trying very much not to shout.

"As a matter of fact, I can," she grinned.

It was no different from any other grin she had ever directed at me all these years. But something inside me seemed to snap, like my heart had frozen over and broken in half, and I didn't know the reason. Maybe it was her glitter make-up. Maybe it was the _smell_ –the smell of smoke and booze and sweat and a melange of perfumes good and bad that seeped through your clothes, a sure sign of having been clubbing. Maybe it was the fact that she was wearing hair-extensions because her photographer had suggested it and had laughed down my suggestion, several months ago, of letting her hair grow out. Maybe it was because she had taken her wedding ring off, and was instead wearing a large, chunky black rock on her finger that the Doctor had got her from Saturn.

One of them was the reason. Or maybe all of them were.

"Stop it!" I stood up so quickly the chair fell backwards with a crash. "That's enough! I've had enough!"

"Yeah, well join the club, mister." She yawned. "Save the screaming for the morning. I'm going to bed." She sauntered away, graceful even when inebriated, and slowly climbed up the stairs.

And left me alone in the lounge, seething.

* * *

**A/N: Ahh, sorry for all the drama, but we're fast approaching Volcano Day, now. Hold on to your seats and drop me a review! **


	7. Chapter 7

**So... I've kind of finished this story! Yay, I know! Read on, m'dears...**

* * *

I woke up with a head-ache _again_. This was happening too many times. I didn't really like it, but then again, I didn't really like coming back to a cold home every evening. I went through my usual morning rituals in a haze of throbbing pain.

When I stumbled down the stairs, I found my Lord and Master sitting at the table, scowling over his bowl of cereal. Resisting the urge to slap that sanctimonious look off his face, I got my own bowl.

I sat down opposite him and dunked my spoon into the bowl. Before the first spoonful had even reached my mouth, however, he just _had_ to say something. "Had a nice time last night?"

I let my spoon clatter into the bowl, milk splattering around. "For God's sake, Rory," I growled, burying my face in my hands. "I've just woken up and my head's killing me. Don't start."

He _didn't_ start. He let his own spoon drop into the bowl, breakfast half-finished, and stood up abruptly, the chair screeching against the floor. I winced at the screech.

"I won't be in tonight so have someone wait around to help you open the door when you come back."

My nostrils flared at his taunt but I managed to ask, "Why won't you be home tonight? You don't have a shift."

"Worried I'll do some partying of my own? Oh, what's that, your husband has a life that _doesn't_ revolve around you? _Shocking_!"

"Just answer the damn question, Rory."

He shrugged. "_You_ never do."

I snorted. "Is that what it is, then? Some kind of childish grudge? 'I won't do it because you won't'?"

He turned to me, his eyes narrowed. "If you really think that, Amy, then you're stupider than I thought you were."

Oh no he didn't.

"_Stupid_? That's why you hate me modelling, then? Because it's for stupid people?" I laughed harshly. "What, it's not intellectual enough to rise to a _nurse_'s standards?"

He grit his teeth. "I don't really think there's _any_ intellect involved in a job that requires nothing more than posing for a camera."

"Oh-ho, you're dissing the job very easily _now_, but when it brought in some tidy money on the side you had nothing to say!"

"That's exactly my point, Amy!" His voice was finally raised and I felt some weird, twisted satisfaction in having made him shout. "It was 'on the side', it was always 'on the side' before you had to go and make it your career!"

"And why the hell shouldn't I make it my career?" I yelled back. I had some good strong vocal chords of my own, thank you very much. "Why the hell shouldn't I do what I want with my career and why can't you be supportive about it?"

"Because I can't –I cannot support you in good conscience!" His voice lowered again, but was still trembling with emotion. "This stuff –all this stuff that you're doing 'for a career', Amy, let me tell you, is utter and absolute _bullshit_."

I scoffed, "And you wonder why I don't come home in the evening and why I don't tell you work stories anymore? Why should I even bother when you've obviously formed a judgement on me like the sanctimonious arse that you are?"

"Oh, right, right. Try and point you in the right direction and I'm sanctimonious. Try and make you come home to me and I'm a bore, the ole' ball and chain. Try and warn you and I'm paranoid. Right, it makes _perfect_ sense."

"Oh please, don't even get me _started_ on your ridiculous paranoia and your crazy jealous delusions."

For a second, he looked livid, so dangerously angry that I unconsciously leaned back in my chair. Then the moment passed –he was again stupid Rory with his stupid, jealous, unreasonable, unsupportive face. "Right, so you grinding on the dance floor with Andy was a _delusion_, of course it was, how silly of me!"

"For the last time, Rory, I was dancing with Mattie and I didn't notice Andy join us! I was doing nothing wrong!" –I snapped.

"Of course not." His sarcastic voice seemed to grate in my ears. "You're perfect, chaste, pure Amy Pond. You do _no_ wrong."

I shot to my feet and the chair skidded back several feet. "How dare you," I wheezed, my head throbbing harder than ever, the pain nearly blinding me. "How _dare_ you accuse me of something like that? Is that what you really think I'm doing? Boozing and partying and sleeping around?"

To my horror, he shrugged. He thought –he really thought I'd do that? That, of all things, I'd _cheat_ on him? "It seems to be the M.O. of all your 'work-friends'," he muttered, twerking his fingers in air-quotes. I had a sudden urge to snap his fingers in half.

"Yeah, well, it's not mine!"

"Good to know." He placed a hand on his chest and looked at me with mock gratitude. For a moment I was speechless. Who was this man? Who was this cold, painfully sarcastic, violently distrustful man? What had he done to my beautiful Rory?

The silence was oppressive and the jangle of the keys he snatched from the table was very loud. "I'm going over to Pete and Billie's. If you can't get me on the mobile, call Billie."

"Why her?" –I blurted. He looked at me, and I knew then that he had misunderstood. "Oh, I'm having a secret affair with her, didn't you know?" He rolled his eyes and my fingers curled into fists. "Why do you think? I'm babysitting Johnnie."

Anger made my words lucid again. "We're not finished here, Rory."

He rolled his eyes again in a sort of 'what _now_' gesture. "Alright, but make it quick."

"Johnnie can wait."

"Yeah, but," he raised both his hands as though weighing something in each of them, "Fun little kid and some Cluedo versus angry, entitled wife… I'm going for Cluedo."

"So you'd choose some kid over me?" –I was suddenly yelling again, but the words sounded ridiculous even to myself. Surprisingly, he didn't seem to think so. He furiously gestured to all of me as he yelled-

"_Any_ kid is better than _you_, Amy!"

A split second of silence passed. His words echoed all around me and within me.

Then something seemed to snap in my brain.

"Out."

"What?"

"Get out of my house."

"_What_?"

I was screeching now. "Get the _fuck_ out of my house, Rory! GET OUT!"

I think what Rory did next really sealed it for me. It was his reaction to that that hardened me against him, that led me through the divorce proceedings almost painlessly.

"Fine." He didn't look furious or sad. He just seemed… relieved. Like the words 'about time' were unspoken, but implied.

I told him I hated him as he left. He took that in with the same cold acceptance. I meant it, anyway. I knew, for certain, that at that moment I hated him more than I had ever hated anyone in the entire universe, including Madame Kovarian.

And I hated him so much, so very much, simply because I still loved him.


	8. Chapter 8

I was sitting rather aimlessly on my bed, staring at the pitiful contents of my wardrobe, when my mobile rang. I answered the call without checking the caller id. Did it matter anyway?

"Hello."

"Mr. Williams? It's Roger Burnett."

What was _he_ calling me for? Oh God. Don't tell me he was calling to congratulate me. Like it was something to be congratulated for. Aw, your wife keeps the lovely duplex house that a time-travelling alien bought in just _her_ name, but you get to keep the vintage car you barely drive –hurray!

"Yes, Mr. Burnett. Is there a problem?"

He hemmed and hawed a little. "Actually, er, yes there is."

I frowned, my mind suddenly clear and lucid. "What is it?"

"Er, um…"

I closed my eyes for a moment, willing myself to be patient. It figured, that _I_ had to get the most dithery lawyer in all of London. "What's the problem, Mr. Burnett?"

"You see, um, there's still –I'm sure it's not her fault, Mrs. Williams, I mean-"

"What's happened?"

"She, er, she hasn't signed a form. One of them. Of course, she may have missed it in the stack."

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. Looks like I was still married. Whoop-de-do.

"It _was_ a pretty big stack," I agreed.

"Yes, well –uh…" His voice trailed away.

I sighed. "I don't blame you, Mr. Burnett, if that's what you're worried about."

"Oh –yes, well, thank you. Very kind of you, I'm sure. The issue _now_, of course, is, well, how to get Mrs. Williams to sign it."

I frowned. "How is that an issue? Just forward it to her lawyer."

"Yes, that is what I intended to do, yes. But then her lawyer tells me that she has broken all contact with him. That is, er, not answering his calls, and such."

I wasn't surprised. It would be like her to leave behind anyone or anything once they had served their purpose, especially when it was something… unsavoury. Speaking of unsavoury, I suddenly realised why Mr. Burnett was calling me about this. Sure enough, after a lot more dithering, it was decided that I would go visit my fair wife myself, get her to sign the form, and then drop it off at Burnett's office. _Fantastic_.

It had been some time since I had dressed myself with such care. Well-coordinated shirt, pants and jacket, matching socks, clean shoes, gelled hair. I realised what I was doing was silly in the extreme, but I didn't care. I didn't want her to get a single chance to mock me, as I knew she would, surrounded and supported by her plastic posse.

Finding out where she was meant I had to call Vanessa, her agent. I tried the landline of my old home once for good measure, then dialled the number of the woman I hated most in the universe next to Madame Kovarian.

"Vanessa Guthrie-Adams."

"It's Rory Williams."

"Mr. Williams!" Her gushing, nasal voice always made me nauseated. Today was no exception.

"How can I help you?"

"I need to know where –my ex-wife is."

"Might I ask why?" There it was. The sudden, shark-like snappy tone. Crisp, business-like and unemotional. It was worse than her gushing.

"It's personal."

"I'd really like to know, Mr. Williams. You see, Amelia is my client. I must respect her working schedule and try and keep away any distractions from her, not lead them to her." A pause. "No offence."

"I'm not some desperate loony trying to cause trouble," I snapped. "It's some technicality regarding our divorce. I have papers she needs to sign. Of course, I understand Amy's professionalism very well –maybe I could just leave these papers with you and you could forward them to her?"

I knew what her answer would be. Vanessa Guthrie-Adams never went out of her way to do anything for anyone, unless there was some kind of profit to be gained from it. And she got nothing from being a courier to Amy.

"I have the address right here, Mr. Williams. If you could just write it down…"

The address belonged to a rather large Georgian house in beautiful condition, a popular place often let for shooting films and period TV programmes, other than magazine shoots. As I approached the front door, I knew my mood was going to get worse over the day.

Stick-thin models littered the doorsteps, their high, affected voices shrill in the cold air. All of them observed me unabashedly as I approached them. I tried not to wince under the predatory glance of more than one young woman.

"What're _you_ here for, love?" –One of the girls asked me, smirking flirtatiously. "_Bazaar_'s got the first floor. I can take you there, or higher if you like." She winked.

I was saved an answer when I noticed Mattie, Amy's 'best mate', leaning against the doorjamb, smoking. "Hey, Mattie."

She looked at me through bleary eyes. "Who's that, then?"

"It's Rory Williams." She mouthed my name once before her memory seemed to jog. "Oh right, _Rory_ –you're Amy's Rory, aren't you?"

A sudden lump formed in my throat, surprising me. I hadn't cried in… in months. What was the occasion now? I forced the lump back down, and fought down every errant emotional thought in my head –not an easy thing to do, but something I was taught to do as a Roman legionary. It helped, sometimes, to be two thousand years old.

"Not anymore," I said flatly. "Where can I find her?"

"She's on the _Bijoux_ shoot –second floor. Ask for Andy, everybody here knows him."

Of course. Everyone's chum, Andy. _Swell_.

By the time I reached the second floor, huffing and puffing from the stairs, because some chatty girls were holding up the lift on the first floor, my temper was beginning to show. I fairly snapped at the nervous kid who looked like he was just out of school. He wasn't inclined to let me in at first, but then, rather reluctantly, he let me wait in the make-up room.

I didn't have to wait long, though. I was barely in the room for two minutes, avoiding my stern reflection glaring down at me from all the mirrors, before she turned up. I glanced at her, my heart inexplicably skipping a beat, my palms sweating.

She hadn't changed much. Her hair was longer, her eyes tired, poufy even, like she hadn't had enough sleep. I _hoped_ that was the reason, then wondered why I cared anymore. But on the whole, she looked as breathtakingly beautiful as she always had. As she forever would.

Suddenly I was angry again. She had no business looking this beautiful –it was too _cruel_. A sharp shard of _something_ seemed to drive into my chest every time she spoke.

I couldn't take it. I wanted to get out of there as fast as I could. I didn't want to see her again. I couldn't _bear_ seeing her again.

I kept my answers to her questions short, curt. I didn't stop when she called me. I couldn't. If I had… I was running by the time I emerged from the building into the street. Roman military training –bah! Clearly, they never had to reckon with a woman like Amy Pond. I froze for a moment, appalled at how easily I was slipping into 'revere-Amy-mode' again. No. _No_. I had to get over this, get over her.

I knew then, that I could never see Amy again. Not if I wanted to preserve what little sanity I had remaining.

Little did I know the universe had other plans for me, and chose to carry out these plans through the Daleks –the _Daleks_, of all the creatures in the universe!

My last thought, as the Dalek-bus driver hybrid shot me, was that the Doctor sure knew to pick his moments.


	9. Retrospection

**Retrospection**

**An analysis of why Amy and Rory break up according to this fanfiction**

* * *

Oh-kay, so that's where it ends! Don't worry, there's an epilogue coming up, but I'd like to take advantage of this extra chapter to try and explain exactly what I think happened between Amy and Rory and why they do what they did in the previous chapters. I've had a couple of reviews stating why the whole 'Amy-can't-have-a-baby' fiasco was my root reason for the fall of their relationship, so I've attempted to explain it, chapter by chapter.

I'm afraid I'm going to be _very_ long-winded about this, since I tend to get all very up and shrink-tastic with all the fictional characters in all the fandoms I belong to. **So** **you may definitely skip ahead to the next chapter, where a nice, fluffy epilogue awaits you. You are by no means obligated to read the rest of this chapter.**

That being said, let me begin.

First of all, I think we all know from the TV episode _The Asylum of the Daleks _exactly why all the fuss and the drama took place. Amy can't have any more kids. That's definitely the main reason. But, I've always thought something else drove them apart, something more obviously discordant in their lives that _added_ to the whole aspect of Amy's barrenness.

The biggest thing that contributed to this assumption was Rory. In the episode, when Amy cries, "I can't have kids!" Rory looks shocked, and says "I know." And later, "Amy, I -I never..."

Now this tells us two things:

= That Amy and Rory both knew that they couldn't have kids and they knew that their spouse knew.

= AND, more importantly, that Rory didn't realise that this factored at all in their break-up.

And so we have that tantalising question -what _was_ the supposed reason for their break-up?

It could have been anything, really, but I took my cue from Rory's lines in the beginning of the episode -"Really? I thought you were pouting at a camera."

I have to get a little personal here and tell you -that episode scared the shit out of me, if you'll pardon my language. The moment Amy said "I don't have a husband" I went "WHAT?" I mean, that had to be in an alternate universe, right? Right? Where Amy was married to someone else? No. There was Rory, looking angrier than I had ever seen him in _any_ episode 'till date. In fact, he looked angrier than Amy, which was an absolute first, too.

So that gave me more clues. Amy and Rory were _angry_, they were furious with each other. So it wasn't just some mutually amicable fall-out. It wasn't some silent, deadening collapse of a relationship(thankfully!) It was loud, it was messy, and it left both of them with some pretty deep resentment.

That gave me a starting point. This story starts sometime soon after Amy and Rory find out they can't have kids. In the first chapter, we see that this is bothering Amy far more than even she realises -that simple, everyday dialogue is reminding her of it and making her feel horrible. In the second chapter we see Rory grappling with the news, too -but he mainly thinks of it as how it reflects on Amy, how it's affecting her. And at this point, they both decide not to talk about it. Which, in my opinion, is a big mistake.

Rory's reason would be obvious -he doesn't want to remind Amy about it and make her feel worse. Amy's reason is a little subtler, but valid, nonetheless. She also doesn't want to pain Rory with perpetual mentions of it -also, she feels terribly guilty because of it. What do you tell a person who is hurting and it's your fault? She could apologise, and he would obviously forgive her(I have a feeling he _had_ forgiven her) but that wouldn't make his pain go away. If anything, it would depress him further. So they don't discuss it.

Like I said, big mistake.

We know Amy has already done _some_ modelling, witness the Petrichor ad(am I the only one, by the way, who really wants a perfume named Petrichor?) in _Closing Time_. And we know from _Asylum_ that she's definitely back in the business. I decided to make this the basis of all the fights and the misunderstandings.

Let me clarify, this is my own personal opinion. Anything else could have been the reason.

I mean, why not? Especially with Rory's tendency to be jealous and to a degree, possessive( a very _small_ degree, considering it's Amy Pond). In the third chapter, we have Rory being not very enthusiastic about Amy's modelling venture, and Amy start to tire of his possessiveness. It was bound to happen. I'm sure they never will stop fighting about the whole jealous/possessive side to Rory, even in 1940's Manhattan. But not enough to want to get divorced, of course. *shudders*

Anyhow, coming back to the story, in the fourth chapter, we have Rory hating his wife's new job more and more, and since Amy won't hear him say a word against it, he's getting more and more -there's really no other word for it -pissed off. Dark, angry Rory begins to emerge.

Somewhere between chapter four and five, is according to me, their first big, bad fight. Rory had so far insisted on accompanying Amy on her shoots. Now, this would really irritate _anyone_, and since we're talking about free-spirited Scottish Amy Pond, who bit four psychiatrists, the irritation takes a whole new level. The result of their fight is that Rory stops accompanying her, but the damage is already done, and neither of them are really normal with each other again until the Dalek Asylum.

So, in chapter five we have Amy -exhausted, as she will be for a long time to come -returning home to a husband who's stopped waiting for her. Rory's still angry from their fight, as we can see from the short telephonic conversation. And Amy -poor Amy is suddenly forced to face the truth of her barrenness again(which she was trying hard to forget) and so finds herself emotionally weak and vulnerable. I believe at this point, Amy would have told Rory how she felt and sought his support, if it hadn't been for Rory's angry words. Amy is very, very angry at this stage -here she is, nearly dying with all the guilt and shame of taking away his happiness forever, and here he is, not even treating her with _some_ regard. So Amy stomps out, furiously promising to party with a vengeance.

Chapter six was a little hard for me to write. Drugs are ugly, and stepping down that path even a little can bring in a whole world of pain. Even that slight mention somehow made their fights a lot worse, a lot more _ugly_ -to me at least. I'd like to clarify, Amy was _not_ doing drugs regularly. She really did try it just once -I think Amy would be one of the few people in the world who had the mental mettle to resist its lure. I don't think I would. Rory, of course, being a conscientious nurse, would have the same in-built resistance, and would be disgusted with anyone who had no similar strength -wrong of him, probably, because some people should be pitied -but then, that would be his point of view.

Another reason why chapter six was hard, was because of what Rory was turning into. We see his disillusionment, we see 'something breaking' in him -he begins to believe the worst of Amy, rather than the best of her. He can believe that Amy would do drugs and lie to him, that she would even (as we see in the next chapter) cheat on him. Chapter six is where Rory is done with the relationship and is unconsciously ready for divorce.

Chapter seven, of course, needs little explanation, I think. They have their last big fight(they've had a few more since chapter five -one of them, I like to think, led to them sleeping in different rooms), and Amy finally 'kicks him out' and 'gives him up'. Now, this was very hard for me to reconcile together. Rory says she kicked him out -this is corroborated by the last _Pond Life_ episode. But she also 'gave him up' for her inability to have children. And so we have the powerfully painful line -unknown to Rory -that any kid is better than her.

I think at that point, Amy realises that any kid really _is_ better than her for Rory, and that she should just let him go. She doesn't do this for completely selfless reasons, though -she gives him up, because she's tired of all the guilt, and that by giving him up/kicking him out, she will have finally driven the guilt away, and she wouldn't have any more fights to deal with. Mostly, she's _tired_. I don't know about you, but I think she definitely looks exhausted in the beginning of _Asylum, _and I like to think that this is the reason.

Chapter eight also needs little explanation, I'd just like to point out one thing -Rory's angry mood. In my personal opinion, people like Rory are really the worst to have a verbal fight with, because of the horrible things they end up saying. Rory often watches his words, and so, when he's angry and in a fight, he really lets them loose. Also, he's sarcastic. And the words of a sarcastic, angry person are often the most cruel, really. So we have chapter eight seeping with Rory's sarcasm and ill-humour -until the point where the Daleks kidnap him, and for once, do some _good_ in this universe!

I'm almost done, now(nope, I'm still not finished). All I'd like to add to this detailed analysis, is my reason for alternating between Amy and Rory's points-of-view. I'm not sure if it came across in that way to you, but I mainly chose this approach to show that neither of them were culpable for the divorce. It wasn't their fault, and yet, conversely, it was _both _their faults. Rory's jealous and possessive nature makes him small-minded. Amy's reaction to this is again too rash and stubborn. Neither of them are willing to give in, and neither of them discuss it rationally. And they don't discuss it because of the recent blow to their hopes and dreams.

That is to say,

= Amy and Rory don't talk to each other about not having kids.

= In this sudden non-discussing phase comes the change in Amy's career path. In the spirit of non-discussion they don't talk about _why_ they think this is a good or bad idea.

= They share lesser and lesser until they don't understand, or misunderstand what the other is doing or saying and they fight.

= They talk lesser because of the fight, and because of this they fight more.

= They fight so much they're tired of fighting, and they divorce.

A simple communications misfire, as the Doctor would put it.

Also, in the end, it really is because of Amy's infertility that they break up. *shakes head*

Aaaand, end of discourse. If you've read this far, thank you so very much for sparing enough of your time to do so! If there's anything you'd like to add or discuss or debate in this reasoning of mine, please PM me, and I'd gladly thrash it out with you. After all, this all just my personal opinion, and you are entitled to see this whole thing in your own way, too!

Please do review, I'd really love to know what you think of my story!

Also, heads up for a nice, feel-good epilogue!


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

* * *

He watched them waving at him on the screen, not moving his eyes away until they were fully replaced by the swirling energies of the time vortex. Only then did he look away with a sigh. They were fine, they were happy again. But how close had they come to making themselves unhappy forever? He shook his head. Silly, frustratingly complex humans! Throwing away the best thing, the brightest and most beautiful thing in the universe over some misunderstanding…

He had been angry. Incredibly angry at how foolish they could be over such trifles. But there had been pain, real pain in his Amelia's eyes. Pain ringed with stiff waves of hostility. Had he plainly shown how angry he was, she'd have shut him out. And he hadn't wanted that, had he?

But the anger hadn't really gone, oh no. He'd seen that they hadn't stopped loving each other –not by far. He'd seen Amy's worried expression as they searched for her husband on the snowy surface of the planet. He'd seen Rory's face spasm with panic as he'd carried his wife over to him, across the hall of destroyed Daleks. Such _fools_ the two of them were –the anger was still there –being so ridiculously obstinate and foolish and crazy and dooming themselves to such unimaginable _pain_. What if he hadn't had a golden opportunity like the one offered to him by Rory's innate chivalry and his own immunity to the Dalek nanobots? ...Well, he'd probably have thought of something else, but the point remained.

He sighed deeply and pulled one final lever on the console; he felt the Tardis shudder excitedly as she landed. A small smile appeared on his face. He was excited, too, of course. That went without saying.

The Tardis had barely landed when the doors opened with a flourish and a certain someone with a familiar halo of golden hair bounded in.

"_Finally_," drawled River Song with her irresistible smirk. "I was getting afraid I had to somehow make plans of my own for the night."

The Doctor grinned, flipped his fringe of hair off his forehead, and sauntered over to her. "Well, now, we couldn't have that, could we?"

"No, we couldn't," she agreed, her mane of curls quivering around her face and leaned in slowly. "So. Where are we right now?"

He smirked. "Well, right now, _I've_ just come from an asylum and -"

"The Dalek Asylum?" River had suddenly stiffened and she had her serious face on.

"Yes." He frowned. "What's wrong?"

She blinked twice. "Nothing. In fact-" Taking him by surprise, in long-standing tradition, River's hand was suddenly on the back of his neck, her lips pressed onto his. Going by kisses, this one was one of the more intense ones, the _really_ intense ones.

When she let him go he was even a little breathless, despite his respiratory bypass system. "River, w-what-"

"Thank you," River whispered. "You have _no_ idea how close it was –you saved their lives."

"I _always_ save their lives."

"You know what I mean." She pressed another, much softer kiss on his lips. "You wonderful, magnificent man."

He grinned. "Yes, I suppose I am."

She tweaked his nose playfully. "Well, I've had a very long, icky day in prison. I am in desperate need of a shower." She eyed his grimy face and dirty jacket, her eyebrow raised suggestively.

He caught on instantly. "Ah, right, yes. So do I, I think?" A question, in case he had misinterpreted her look.

He hadn't, as usual. "Yes you do, sweetie," she smiled fondly. "I think the ensuite in the Oak Room today? I'm _dying_ to try the wood-sounded bath…" She sashayed away up the stairs.

Grinning, the Doctor untied his bowtie and followed his wife. These were the days he lived for. The days when everybody lived.

And the days when everyone stayed married.

* * *

**The End.**

**Reviews, please? Just one will do!^_^**


End file.
